


Pain

by darkforetold



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Happy Ending, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-18
Updated: 2014-03-18
Packaged: 2018-01-14 14:32:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1270036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darkforetold/pseuds/darkforetold
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Through pain, Dean and Castiel find each other and discover what it means to love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

"You have to love something before you can feel its loss.” -Ben Edlund  


  


"You gotta hold still, Cas."

"I'm trying, _Dean_."

For the fifth time, Castiel flinched before the needle could come close to his skin, earning him another glare. It was all over his face, in the tightness of his brows, his signature jaw clench: Dean was quickly losing patience. So much so, that when he growled, his chest seemed to quake with it. If he could tell the future, and he couldn’t, Dean would soon tell him to _nut up_ or _quit being such a baby_. As if taking the brunt of a werewolf attack had been an everyday thing for him. 

_Just part of the job, Cas. No big deal._

Except it was. For him, it was anything but a regular occurrence. Pain was new, frighteningly new, and any promise of it—Castiel jumped again. This time, number six, the needle just touched the edge of his red, jagged wound. Progress. Castiel beamed a smile at him and Dean scowled. His smile disappeared. He cleared his throat. Under hooded lids, Dean quietly seethed at him before adjusting the table lamp. Closer, brighter. Castiel squinted. The blinding light illuminated the damage done to his arm. There was red everywhere. Blood seeped from the deepest cut; the needle a silvery shade of crimson. Looking at the gash made it hurt even more, as if acknowledging it only made it angry. Castiel swallowed and looked away, jumped when Dean tossed the whiskey flask at him.

“Drink it. It’ll take the edge off."

It was a command he wasn’t about to ignore. He picked it up and unscrewed the cap. The scent hit him first. It had a rich smokiness to it, strong and hardy like the men that drank it. Like Dean. Still, it didn’t stop him from instinctively turning his nose up. Quietly refusing. Dean’s hard stare told him that if he didn’t drink it, he'd force it down his throat. He believed him, took a sip—and winced as if he'd been hit. It fought its way down with claws and teeth and settled in his gut like lead. Seared his insides but didn't burn half as much as the werewolf's claw marks. Castiel took another sip, then, victim to Dean’s growing impatience, took a gulp. Two. Four. Drank it completely. Newly human, it didn’t take long for the whiskey to have an effect. It dulled the pain, loosened the fear in his chest, and dampened his inhibitions.

"You ready?"

Castiel nodded.

"You gonna move again?"

"You try getting clawed by a werewolf, Dean," he said, speech slow and lazy. "Where were you when I needed you?"

"I ganked the son of a bitch, didn't I?"

Accusations sprung in their eyes. Dean clenched his jaw and rolled his shoulders forward, putting the needle to skin again. His command to hold still was lost somewhere between his numbness, his pain, and the full-body warmth that came with being drunk. While Dean plucked at his flesh, Castiel let the feel good slide through him. Only rarely did he feel pain through his haze at all. He closed his eyes for a time and steadied his breathing. Tried to concentrate on something that would ground him. His heartbeat sounded distant in his head, his thoughts erratic and fragmented. When he opened his eyes to escape from himself, Dean filled his vision and saved him like he always had. Was simply there like he always would be.

Castiel studied him. The freckles over his nose, across his cheekbones, looked like little sunbursts from where he was sitting. Brighter under the warm lamp light, it gave his skin a healthier glow. Sun-kissed, almost. He wanted to explore him, see where else he might have freckles and follow each one like an x on a treasure map. He’d take his time tracing every scar, grafting a kiss to each one until Dean had his fill of love and affection, until he couldn’t take anymore. For the first time since the werewolf attack, Castiel smiled. Wide enough to let the sun shine through. Dean must've sensed it, somehow. Maybe he’d been heated by its warmth.

"What're you smiling about?"

_You._

"It doesn't hurt anymore," he said instead.

Nothing hurt when he was with Dean. Under the scrutiny of those eyes, hypnotized by that smile, nothing could ever hurt. Not the worst of bites or claw marks, not even falling from Heaven. Dean glanced up and looked him over as if trying to detect anything else he might be able to fix. His skin seemed to warm under Dean’s study; the whole room heating up to the point he could barely tolerate it. Just when he thought he’d had enough, Dean looked deep into his eyes. His skin flashed hot. It was in those eyes that Castiel lived and died, found himself whole and completely undone. In that moment, Dean made him and unmade him.

"You're drunk, aren't you?"

"What?” Castiel scoffed. “ _No_."

"Are too."

"Am not."

Dean smirked and went back to his work. The needle pricked his skin, but there was no pain. Just a feeling of light-headedness and a sort of... out-of-body experience. Dean had been right. He was drunk. High on everything Dean. The pensive line of his lips, tight and full; the smell of whiskey on his breath and blood on his hands. It was the delicate way Dean handled him, the way he kept looking up at him as if making sure he was all right. With strong hands and gentle fingers, Dean sewed him back together. He was complete and new. Invincible. With an airy chuckle, Castiel lolled his head back.

"You all right there, buddy?"

“I’m fine, Dean.”

_I'm in love with you. Always have been._

The needle stopped threading. 

The room chilled.

He lifted his head. Dean was staring at the gash on his arm. Not moving. Not breathing. The silence—it was as heavy and dense as wet concrete. Right then, the world rubber banded, slamming into him with a ten-ton force, with a realization that… tore his world apart. 

He’d said it out loud. He told Dean he was in love with him. 

Castiel swallowed hard. The look on Dean’s face—he couldn’t tell if Dean was angry or disturbed. Bone seemed to ripple under his skin when Dean tensed his jaw. 

"Dean?"

When Dean came back to life, his movements were mechanical, cold and efficient. Gone was the care and gentle precision. Murdered was his smile and the amused glint in his eyes. It spoke volumes. Dean threaded the last stitch and tied it off. Dropped the needle on the tray and simply... walked away. 

When the werewolf clawed into him, he thought he'd known pain. When he'd lost his angelic identity, Heaven, his sisters and brothers, he thought he'd known agony.

True pain and agony was knowing Dean didn't love him back.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You think you know pain until something hits you so hard, you can hardly breathe. -Dean

_I'm in love with you. Always have been._

Dean stared at himself in the bathroom mirror. Bags under his eyes, pale skin—he looked as if he’d seen a ghost, gone through Hell again or both. Cas... was in love with him. His best friend. _In love_ with him. The more he thought about it, the more it didn't make sense. It made his head spin. He felt nauseous, on edge. Completely disorientated.

He turned on the faucet. Old pipes shuddered before spewing out cold water. Freezing water. Possibly cold enough to wipe away what Cas had said. He splashed some of it on his face, but even that—the shock of it, the numbing temperature of it—did nothing to erase his voice inside his head.

_I'm in love with you. Always have been._

How long? Years? Since he became human? The Apocalypse? Before that? Dean frowned at his reflection. And why say it now? Questions he didn’t have the answers to dog piled him, right on top of all the other shit he had to deal with. Dean splashed more water on his face. This... love thing—it was just too much for him to handle. He'd bury it away somewhere deep, lock it away and never think about it again. Just like he did with everything else that was... too big.

_Good plan, asshole._

More water, cold seeping through his skin, into his bones, drowning him. This time, when he looked up, Sam was standing in the doorway. Appeared out of nowhere like some... bigfoot ninja. He jumped halfway out of his skin and glared at him. Completely scared the shit out of him.

“Hey, you okay?”

"Don't... sneak up on me like that."

"Dude, I called your name several times. Not my fault if you didn't hear me." Sam frowned. "You okay?"

"Yeah, Sam," he hissed. "I'm fine."

Sam narrowed his eyes, scanning for lies, and found a million. His huge brother shrugged, said, “Okay,” and turned away, lumbering down the hall, out of sight. Leaving him alone with a crushing weight on his shoulders. 

He felt like he might break.

:::

For the rest of the day, Cas made himself scarce, skirting the shadows as if he were some kid trying to make himself invisible. _If they can’t see me, I don’t exist._ Even several feet away, Dean could feel him. Always could. Something tingled every time Cas showed up out of the blue back when he had his angel mojo. Each time he invaded his personal space and, now, any time they were in the same room together. He'd always chalked it up to that more _profound bond_ thing Cas had said years ago. Now? He wasn't so sure. Maybe... it was something else.

It didn't matter. Everything had changed. After Cas' love confession, something had broken and they were both treading on the shattered glass pieces of their friendship. Cas was avoiding him. If Cas even dared to be in the same room, Dean wouldn't look at him. He couldn't. 

Dean let out an exasperated sigh.

Sam looked up from his research book. "You find something?"

"Nah," he said, closing the ancient tome. The words had been running together hours ago. Couldn't read shit. Dean ran a hand over his face... and felt a tingle. A _profound bond_ tingle. Dean looked up, searching the shadows. He thought for sure he'd find Cas staring at him, but he wasn't. Wasn't even in the room. 

“You seen Cas at all today?” Sam wasn't as dumb as he looked.

“Nope.”

“Wonder what he’s doing...”

“Who cares. He’s probably… I don’t know—doing whatever not-angels do.”

Dean suffered the brunt of Sam's frown, eyes probing and analyzing. Mildly accusatory.

“Something happen between you two?”

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?"

Sam put his hands up in surrender. "Just—"

"Don't 'just', all right? Mind your own business."

Taking the hint, Sam went back to his research with a long, drawn-out sigh.

:::

Dean found more questions by the end of the day. At night, Dean lay on his bed, on his side, facing the wall as if it had all the answers to his problems. It didn’t. He couldn’t find the answer to why he’d felt so… relieved and, for a moment so happy, when Cas said what he did. Happier than he’d felt in... shit—years. It was a warm feeling, filling him up, spackling holes left behind by all the crap he’d gone through. The warmth? The relieved, happy feeling? That was before the crippling fear set in. He left Cas there, mangled, in stitches, because he couldn't handle it. _Still_ couldn't handle it. But why? Why was it such a big deal? Why couldn't he just tell Cas... he wasn't interested? _Look, buddy, it's great that you... care about me, but—_

The bedroom door opened. Dean snapped his eyes shut, pretending to be asleep. In the dark, he only heard quiet shuffling noises, then the slow, careful unzipping of a duffel bag. Definitely Cas, probably packing up his things to move to another room. They’d shared one since Cas moved back in, after he'd become human. The other rooms were piled so high with shit left over from the original Men of Letters that they couldn't give him one of his own. Never had a chance to clean any of it out. They’d taken turns sleeping on the floor, letting the other take the bed, and that was that. They were happy. Content. He’d often fall asleep to the sound of Cas breathing. Just knowing he was there—

Dean swallowed hard when the door shut softly, devouring him in lonely darkness. Dean didn’t sleep the rest of the night.

:::

In the morning, he stumbled out of bed, exhausted, aching. None of Cas’ stuff was left. No sign of Cas anywhere as he shuffled to the bathroom, brushed his teeth and straightened his hair. No Cas in the kitchen either, smiling over his favorite coffee mug—the one with the bees all over it, with _Bee Happy_ in yellow, bold letters. On any normal morning, before his lazy ass ever got up, Cas and Sam would be huddled around the table with their coffee and donuts, researching the latest case together. Today, Sam sat alone, tapping on his computer. 

“Hey.”

Sam's keystrokes became more… aggressive.

“You have your coffee yet?”

Sam was always pissed off in the morning before his coffee—and he was pissed off now, he could tell. His brother frowned at the computer screen as if it'd personally offended him. Didn’t answer him at all. Sam's jaw line clenched and before he said anything, Dean knew he was going to be lectured. Dean turned away, trying to hedge it off—and that was when Sam turned on _him_.

“What'd you do to Cas this time, _Dean_? You kick him out again?” Sam growled. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Dean sighed, pinched the bridge of his nose, and turned around. “What are you talking about, Sam?”

"What do you mean 'what am I talking about?'" Sam snapped. “Cas left, _Dean_. Okay? He left. You kick him out?”

“He _left_?" Dean echoed. 

"Did you—"

"No, of course I didn’t fucking kick him out! Are you nuts?” Dean took a breath. "Where'd he go?"

"I don't know—"

"You didn't think to _ask_ him?"

"He seemed pretty depressed, Dean. I didn't get a chance to."

“And what? You didn’t stop him? You just _let him go_?”

“He seemed pretty adamant about going. What the hell am I supposed to do? Chain him up?”

"Yeah, Sam, _exactly_. You chain him up." Dean whipped out his phone. “Fuck.”

Dean dialed Cas’ number. It rang three times before going to voicemail. _Leave a message_. Short and sweet. “Cas,” he hissed. “Where are you?” He went quiet, half-expecting Cas to pick up. He knew he wouldn’t. “Call me back when you get this, you hear me?”

He hung up and looked at Sam. “He say anything to you? Where he was going?”

“No. Just that he _had to go_.” Sam frowned. “What’d you do?”

“I… I don't know.” Dean looked at him blankly. “I think I fucked up, Sam. Really… fucked up.”

Dean waited five agonizing minutes for Cas to call him back. After ten minutes, he’d left three more voicemail messages and five texts. No answer to any of them.

“Fuck this.”

Dean grabbed his jacket and keys—

“Dean, where are you going?”

—and stormed out of the room.

_I’m going to go find him._

:::

He drove aimlessly for hours. He searched front roads, back roads, and any other road he could think of to catch a glimpse of him. When that didn't work, he circled back and stopped at every gas station along the way, asking the people inside if they'd seen him. It went like clockwork every single time. He'd show the picture—the one of him and Cas together, smiling at the camera, happy—and they'd say no, they hadn't seen him. Not satisfied, he'd press them harder, describing Cas as if they couldn't see what he looked like from the photo. _He has dark hair… blue eyes. Really blue. You can’t miss him._ No dice. No one had seen him. Maybe Cas had hitched a ride. Maybe he’d gotten into a car with a demon or—

Dean stopped thinking and kept driving. Worrying about him… he just couldn’t do it. Not now, not when he was on the edge of losing it. If Cas ended up dead somewhere because of him—nope, not gonna happen. He wouldn’t let him die. He'd sell his soul again, whatever he had to do. He’d get him back. Cas would be fine. They’d eat burgers together again, watch shitty movies. All the stuff they used to do. Share a room. Share—

Share what? How was he going to complete that thought? He didn't need to ask himself to know. He'd thought about it a number of times before Cas confessed. It happened every night Cas wandered into the bedroom. His gut would twist. He'd hold his breath, wondering—hoping—if tonight would be the night Cas slipped in next to him. Share a bed. That was how he wanted to complete that thought. Fuck. How much did he really care about Cas? What was he not telling himself? The thought of waking up every morning, knowing that Cas would be in his little robe with his bed hair sticking up everywhere, smiling over coffee—he looked forward to every one of those mornings. He woke up, actually _thankful_ he was breathing. _Thankful_ he had lived another day. Shit. Did he… did he have _feelings_ for his best friend? 

_Those_ kind of feelings?

Dean took the earliest exit he could find, pulled into the parking lot of a shitty bar, and got out. Until he could figure everything out, untangle his guts and feelings, he'd do what he did best: he'd drink. Wash it all down with a nice shot—or twenty. Forget everything. Drown in—

He stopped dead in his tracks and stared into the large, front window of the bar. He could see in. He could see _Cas_ sitting close, _really_ close, next to some dude he’d love to punch right now. It turned his stomach. He fisted his hands. The guy turned toward Cas, smiled. Leaned in. They—

Dean whipped away. Light-headed, nauseous—his head swam. Then, his heart broke. Tore inside his chest with every beat, so painful he could hardly breathe. He knew pain, knew it like the back of his hand. He could take a bullet as good as any Marine. Suffer bites and claw marks from any monster. The Apocalypse? _Hell_? Walk in the fucking park. But this? 

Fuck it.

He got into the car, drove away, and never looked back.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Cas find each other and realize what they should have a long time ago.

**You out there buddy?**  
 _Sent July 7, 2014, 2:40 AM_

**Cas?**  
 _Sent July 7, 2014, 2:45 AM_

**Come on answer me**  
 _Sent July 7, 2014, 3:00 AM_

**Goddamnit where are you**  
 _Sent July 10, 2014, 11:23 AM_

**Answrr yor fucking phne**  
 _Sent July 10, 2014, 12:16 PM_

**fck yuo im done**  
 _Sent July 10, 2014, 1:12 AM_

**whatever I did I'm sorry**  
 _Sent July 18, 2014, 10:17 PM_

  


Dean sat on his bed, staring at his phone. _Come home..._ was primed and ready in the text message box. He'd been like this for the last ten minutes. Staring blankly, not sending the message he should've sent two weeks ago. That was how long Cas had been gone, how long he hadn't heard from him: two goddamn weeks. Two fucking weeks of Cas... not being there. Fourteen days that didn't involve waking up to Cas, sleeping on the floor or—if it was his turn—in the bed. Three hundred thirty-six hours he didn't have Cas here, with him, roaming the bunker's halls, sipping on coffee in the mornings or eating his homemade burgers in the afternoons. 

Twenty-three voicemails he hadn't returned. Fifteen texts he didn't bother answering.

Dean pressed the little 'x' until _Come home..._ disappeared. He tossed his phone on the bed and rubbed his hands over his face, through his hair. Maybe Cas was pissed. _Really_ pissed. Maybe he'd lost his phone or... Cas was putting him through another Purgatory-style silent treatment—except... that didn't make sense. Because this time, there were no Leviathans Cas was trying to save him from. No reason to ignore his texts and pathetic voice mail messages. Unless... no. Not going to think about it. Cas was okay. He—

"Any word on Cas?"

He looked up. Sam hovered in the doorway of his bedroom, looking at him with a face full of concern. Hoping. Dean shook his head. "Nah... nothing."

"It's been a few weeks."

"Yeah, I know."

"You think he's—"

"Yes, Sam," Dean snapped. "He's okay. He's just... pissed."

Sam nodded. Fixed him with this... expression that made him think his brother was pitying him. Like Sam knew that his stupid older brother had been in love with his best friend all along. "We'll find him," Sam said after a while. "He'll be okay."

Dean wanted to believe him. He didn't want to think that Cas—

His phone rang.

His heart jumped into his throat. Without thinking, he lunged for it, picking it up with trembling fingers. _Cas_ glared at him from his phone's screen—his stomach twisted. He clicked _answer_ —

"Cas! Where—where the fuck have you been?"

"Dean..." Cas' voice sounded weak. "I'm in... a hospital."

Dean closed his eyes and sucked in a breath. He trembled. A million images flashed through his—  
"Dean?"

"Yeah." Dean snapped out of it. "Where are you?"

"Albuquerque, New Mexico. North Hope Hospital."

"I'll be right there. I'm..." He swallowed. "I'm coming to get you."

"Dean..."

Dean hung up. He didn't want to hear it. Didn't want to hear why his voice sounded so weak. Cas was okay. He convinced himself of it a hundred times before looking at Sam. His brother's face suggested he'd been calling his name ever since he ended the phone call.

"Dude, what's going on?"

"It's Cas... he's in the hospital."

"What? Where? For what?"

"I don't know—"

"You didn't think to ask?"

"Sam, we gotta go."

:::

It should've taken him eleven hours to get to North Hope Hospital in Albuquerque, New Mexico. He got there in eight.

Dean could barely put the Impala in park before he whipped open the door and got out. He left Sam behind, charging toward the hospital with lead in his gut. When that wasn't fast enough, he started running, busting through the hospital doors and nearly knocking down a nurse. Sam called his name, but he didn't care. _Cas, Cas, Cas..._ pounded in his brain, his heart, and in every breath he took. 

One of the nurses looked at him, bewildered, when he reached the nurse's station. He was sweating, wide-eyed and out of breath. She gave him a once-over to determine if he was injured. He wasn't. Not physically.

"Can I help—"

"I need you to help me find someone. His name is Castiel. He was brought here... I don't know, within the last two weeks?"

"Okay." She turned to her computer. "What's his last name?"

"... he doesn't have one."

"He... doesn't have a last name?" She frowned. "What does it say on his ID?"

"Doesn't have one of those either."

"He doesn't have an ID," she echoed.

"Yeah, that's what I said," Dean growled out. "Look. Would you just... try his first name? There can't be that many Castiel's."

"You'd be surprised," she said immediately.

"Ma'am," Sam said from behind him. "We'd... really appreciate it if you could help us. Please."

The nurse looked at Sam skeptically, then back to Dean, and asked him to spell it. She looked it up, frowned into her computer, and clicked a couple times on the mouse. "No Castiel's in the system. But if he didn't have an ID on him at the time of admittance..." More mouse clicking. "There are three John Doe's here—"

"John Doe?" Dean echoed. "He would've told you his name—"

"If he were conscious—"

"He called me eight hours ago. He's fucking conscious."

"Sir—"

"Ma'am," Sam cut in diplomatically. "Were any of the John Doe's... moved recently? Maybe out of an ICU unit to—"

"Yes, there's one like that," the nurse said after another mouse click. "Looks like... He's been moved to HDU—uh, high dependency unit. It's on the fifth floor."

Dean turned away and sped toward the elevators, dodging doctors and nurses along the way. _John Doe. ICU. High dependency._ He barely waited for Sam to step into the elevator with him, pushed the fifth floor button a million times as if the first hadn't counted.

"Dean," Sam said. "He's going to be okay."

Dean wanted to believe him.

When the elevator doors opened, he threw himself out, stormed toward the nurse's station—then past it. He wasn't thinking. He busted into the first hospital room. No Cas. Just a sleeping someone.

"Sir!"

"Dean—"

He was frantic. He had to find Cas. He didn't care about his brother calling his name or about the nurse grabbing his arm. He jerked away from her grasp and grabbed the door handle to the second room.

"Are you here to see someone—" She gasped. "Sir! You can't go in there!"

When he didn't stop, she grabbed his arm again. It was feeble compared to the second grip of fingers—his brother's—that jerked him back and kept him still. For a second, he thought about fighting both of them tooth and nail. Breaking away and searching every goddamn room until he found Cas. Beyond his muddled brain, the nurse threatened to call security. It was enough to bring clarity to his mind.

"Sorry," Sam apologized for him. "We're here to see—"

"His name's Cas... Castiel. _John Doe_ ," Dean corrected. "Where is he?"

Her face showed some sign of recognition. "Are you family?"

"Yeah, we're family," Dean snapped.

"Visiting hours are over—"

"Look, lady. I don't give a fuck about your visiting hours—"

"I'm sorry," Sam said again. "It's just that... we've driven for hours and we're tired. We just want to see our friend."

"Unless you're family—"

"We're family, goddamnit," Dean hissed. Desperate. " _I'm_ family. He's my fucking boyfriend, all right? And I _need_ to see him."

The nurse looked at Sam, who nodded at her, then at him. Still skeptical. "I'm going to have to see some ID."

Dean jerked his wallet out of his back pocket and threw it at her. Then turned, walking to the third room and—

"Sir!" A breath, then. "Security!"

"Cas!"

"Hey, that's really not necessary," Sam soothed, always trying to clean up his messes. "He's just.. really worried, all right? Please—"

Their conversation faded out. He searched door number four and—he nearly lost it. As soon as he saw him, sleeping on his bed, hooked up to fuck-all everything, Dean choked and stumbled toward him. "Cas?"

Even in the dim lighting, he could see the bruises on his face. One whole side battered, black and blue. What kind of monster had gotten to him? What had hurt him this badly? _You weren't there to save him..._ almost killed him.

"Cas?"

No answer. Just the rhythmic beeping of machines. 

Dean pulled up a chair, grabbed his hand, and watched over him while he slept.

:::

"Sir?"

Dean snapped awake, instinctively jerking away from the touch at his shoulder. He whipped his head to look up at the nurse. She was startled. There was light. It was morning.

"Sir, you can't sleep here. Visiting hours—"

"I'm not leaving, so you can just take your visiting hours and sho—"

"... Dean?"

His heart backfired in his chest. He snapped his head around. Cas looked at him under heavy lids, face bruised, smile there but—

"Cas?" He grabbed one of his hands. Bruises marked his skin, spotted his arm. Dean swallowed hard. "Hey... I'm here." He kissed his knuckles. Gently. "How you feeling?"

"I'm fine," Cas whispered. He tried to smile.

"You're a horrible fucking liar, you know that?"

That actually made Cas smile. Then it disappeared. "It hurts, Dean."

"Yeah, I know," Dean said. He looked him over. "Look pretty banged up there, buddy. What'd you do? Try to fly?"

Cas almost laughed, but the pain stopped him. He grimaced instead. "No... drunk driver."

"What?"

The room dropped ten degrees.

"I was driving and—"

"Where is he?"

Cas thinned his lips. Tight and unresponsive.

"Goddamnit, Cas. Listen to me. You're going to tell me right now— _is he here_?"

"No, Dean," Cas said quietly. "The police are still looking for him."

"So, what you're telling me..." Dean kneaded his temple. "Is that it was a hit and run? That someone hit you—and _left_ you?"

Cas didn't answer, but his expression said everything.

"I'm gonna fucking kill him... I'm going to find him and kill him with my bare fucking hands—"

Cas wasn't looking at him anymore, but down. At his forearm and how furiously he was scratching at it. Dean stopped raking his fingernails over the scar, the Mark of Cain. They both knew what it was doing to him.

The nurse came in again. A doctor trailed in behind her. Reinforcements.

"Sir, Castiel needs his rest. You're going to have to leave."

"I'm not leaving him—"

"Dean." Cas folded his fingers over his. "It's okay. I'll be all right."

Dean clenched his jaw, glanced up at the nurse, the doctor, then back at Cas. "I'm going to be right outside, okay? If you need me—"

"I know." Cas smiled.

"Okay," Dean said. "Promise me you'll be here when I get back."

Cas nodded.

"Say it," Dean said. "Promise me."

"I promise," Cas whispered. It was weak. He didn't care. A promise was a promise.

Dean nodded and stood up, pointing his finger at the nurse, the doctor. "Take care of him." He turned to leave—

"Dean?"

"Yeah, Cas."

"How'd you get in here?"

Family during visiting hours only. He said he was Cas' boyfriend. He wasn't sure if he wanted it to be a lie.

"Doesn't matter. Concentrate on getting better."

:::

The next morning, Dean caught himself roaming the halls downstairs, Cas’ coffee cup in hand. _Dark roast, please. Sugar. No creamer_ , he’d said. It was like holding a mini-sun in his hand. Burning hot, almost too hot to handle. He didn’t care. Wasn’t thinking about that. Couldn’t see beyond the images of Cas in a crumpled car, hurt and bleeding. Some motherfucker had just _left_ him there. Practically dying. 

Monsters he understood. Humans? Fuck ‘em.

Back on Cas' floor, the elevators opened to chaos. A nurse rushed by with a crash cart, a doctor barking out orders. Dean swallowed. Took a breath. High dependency unit. People relapsed here all the time. Wasn’t Cas. Couldn’t be Cas. Cas was okay.

Cas was not fucking okay.

His heart bottomed out when Sam intercepted him at the nurse’s station, not even two feet from the elevators. Knew they were rushing to Cas' room without even looking. He looked anyway, then he stopped breathing.

The coffee cup fell from his hands.

Nurses and doctors poured into Cas’ room. He could hear it from here: the gut-punch sound of a defibrillator. The scream of a heart monitor flat lining. Suddenly, he was in a vacuum. No sound. Dean called Cas' name. Didn't hear anything. Sam was saying something, holding him back… He needed to get into that room. He needed—

The world rubber banded.

"Cas!" Dean pushed Sam, punched him, thrashed against him with the strength he had left. "Let me go, goddamn it! Fucking—let me _go_!"

Defibrillator again. Flat line.

"Dean—they're doing all they can,” Sam said. “He’s going to be fine.”

Dean didn't believe him. Not when Sam's voice broke like it did.

"Sammy, _please_. If you don't let me go, I swear to fucking God—"

"There's nothing we can do..."

"Don't you—don't you fucking say that to me." Dean sucked in a breath. He felt like he was suffocating. "I was just talking to him... He was... he was okay—"

"Yeah, Dean, I know," Sam said quietly. "I know."

Defibrillator.

_Beep, beep. Beep, beep._

:::

Dean refused to leave Cas, pacing outside his room. The nurses had him escorted out. They said Cas needed to rest. They said he was causing too much of a problem. Fuck them. They didn’t know Cas needed him. By his side. Watching over him just like Cas had always watched over him. They didn’t—

Dean exhaled harshly into his hands, fingers interlaced in prayer. A faithless man praying because— _fuck_ , he couldn’t do anything else. He couldn’t save his best friend. He was helpless, useless. Cas had taken a turn for the worst. The doctors… they didn’t know if he’d wake up.

Fuck them. They didn’t know anything.

He knew Cas. He knew Cas would make it.

He _prayed_ that he would make it.

Dean glanced up at the cross on the wall. It didn’t make him feel any better. The sterile chapel, its empty pews—none of it made him feel that the Big Man Upstairs knew what the fuck he was doing. So, he prayed.

"I don't know if you're listening up there... if you even exist—Hell, if you even care..." His voice broke. Dean clenched his jaw. “If you don’t… you better start now. Because if you take him away from me, I swear to you… not even Heaven will keep me from finding and ganking your ass. You hear me? I'll—“

He exhaled harshly. He didn't know what he'd do.

“Look, man. I don’t care what you to do me. Hellhounds, another Apocalypse… just—don't take him away from me.” Dean tightened his jaw again, his fingers. “Please... I'm begging you.”

_We were just starting to make sense of things._

:::

It had been two days. No signs of improvement. Dean sat in the chair next to his bed and held his hand. Around them, machines beeped. Multiple lines from multiple bags ran into Cas’ arms and they looked like jellyfish. The nurses and doctors—they hadn’t bothered him for the past five hours. Came in, checked on Cas every thirty minutes, but didn’t spare him a word. They probably thought it’d be best they leave him alone, to let him say goodbye. Except he never would. Didn’t need to because Cas wasn’t going anywhere.

He promised.

Dean rubbed a thumb over his bruised knuckles. Other than the pale discoloration of his skin, Cas looked as if he were sleeping. Quiet and peaceful. For a minute, he wondered what he was dreaming about, if anything. 

"Cas?" 

He half-expected Cas to open his eyes and stare at him like he always did. After all this shit was over, he’d take Cas home. Treat him real nice. Give him whatever he wanted. He’d savor every smile Cas shot him through the rearview mirror. He wouldn’t bitch when Cas stole one of his fries or snored at night. Instead of sitting on the opposite end of the sofa while they watched movies, he’d sit right next to him. They’d touch. They’d smile.

Tears stung his eyes. He wouldn’t fucking cry. He wouldn’t—

He tightened his grip on Cas’ hand as a tear rolled down his cheek.

“Come on, Cas. You gotta wake up.” Dean shook his hand a little. “Time to wake up. We got a job to do. Saving people, hunting things.” _Please_. “You’re family.”

“Hey, I’m not below begging, all right? You know what? If you wake up—whatever you want, you got it. You want a guinea pig? Done. A cat? Okay. Though, I gotta break it to you, I'm pretty allergic…”

Dean looked at him. Still sleeping. He brushed a thumb over his skin.

“—doesn't matter. If you want a cat, we'll get a cat. Hell, we'll even go watch some bees. Remember how much you liked bees? I'll get you a whole fucking bee hive if you’ll just... _wake up_.” He blinked back another tear. “You promised, remember? You fucking… promised..” Dean kissed his knuckles, resting his forehead on top of their entwined fingers. “I can’t… do this without you. Cas, I need you..."

"I need... you too..."

He jerked his head up. Cas had his eyes open, a smile—Dean jumped up and cupped his face. Thumbs sweeping over cheekbones, a kiss to his forehead. Anything to touch him, to make sure he was real. Here. With him.

“Cas,” he said breathlessly. “You’re okay.”

“I.. promised,” Cas whispered.

“Yeah, you did.” Dean kissed his forehead again. “You did.”

Dean sat back down and held his hand. Cas smiled at him, licked his dry lips and said— “I want a guinea pig.”

Dean grinned. “Dude, you can have fifty of them.”

“One will do.”

Dean kissed his knuckles again. “You get better, I’ll get you a damn guinea pig. I promise.” Cas smiled. “I’m going to go get one of the nurses. Stay here.”

“Okay.”

Dean got up and kissed his forehead again, then stumbled out into the hall to yell for the nurses.

Cas was going to be okay.

:::

For the next five days, Cas recovered miraculously, charming the nurses with facts about bees. His favorite topic of conversation: the new guinea pig Dean promised he’d get him. He’d already named it, too. Kevin. Kevin the guinea pig.

His steps were a little lighter this morning. Today, Cas would get to go home and continue his recovery under Dean’s care. They were going _home_. Back to the bunker. Cas was _okay_.

With coffee and coffee cake in hand, Dean stepped into Cas' room. "Got you your coffee cake."

Cas lit up like a Christmas tree and held out his hand for his present. Dean gave it to him. Healthy, strong, Cas bit off a piece—a bit more than he could chew. "This makes me very happy," Cas said. Little crumbs shot out of his mouth. Somehow, it made him happy, too.

"They said we could get out of here," Dean said. "You ready to go home?"

"More than ready." Cas took another bite. "Where's Sam?"

"High-tailed it out of here this morning for a job next town over."

Cas nodded sagely. "We should help him."

"What we _should_ do," Dean said, wincing. Horrible coffee. "is go home. You gotta rest up."

They checked out of the hospital that afternoon. After driving for about an hour, they stopped for lunch. Dean ate his burger and watched Cas smile over fries, half of which he stole from Dean. He didn’t complain once. In fact, he’d probably never complain about Cas stealing his fries ever again. His best friend was by his side, okay, and with an appetite that was normal for a healthy guy. Almost as if him dying never happened—and he was fine pretending it never did.

After lunch, fat and happy, they drove down the rural roads, listening to soft rock on the radio. Pine trees zipped by. The sun was out and it was a nice day. Two weeks was a whole different world ago. Cas’ love confession, him leaving—it almost didn’t seem real. But it was. It happened. He wasn’t about to forget it.

Dean turned down the radio. He concentrated on the road, but could feel Cas’ eyes on him. Expecting.

“Cas, we gotta clear the air here,” Dean began. About what? That Cas loved him? Their plans on dealing with that? Cas almost dying? He didn’t have a plan, so he started simple. “Don't… _ever_ do that again. Any of it.”

Before Cas could open his mouth—

"In fact, if you ever leave again, I swear to you, I’ll lock you in chains like I did Crowley, you hear me?” Dean tossed him a glare. “Don't ever _not_ respond to my texts or my calls. If I call you, text you, and you’re breathing, you answer me immediately—within five seconds. You got that?” One more thing. “And don’t ever, _ever_ , almost fucking die on me. Because if you do, I _will_ find you and it will _not_ be pretty.”

"Yes, Dean. I understand."

"You had me worried, you know."

"I know."

"Then why didn't you—"

"I felt... ashamed, Dean."

"Ashamed?” Dean glanced at him. “Why?"

Cas went quiet and he did, too. Then it dawned on him. The guy at the bar; the one he kissed. Cas shifted uncomfortably in his seat. That had to be it. Dean clenched his jaw.

"Did you fuck him?"

Cas looked at him as if he'd punched him in the face. "What—"

"Come on, Cas. The guy at the bar," he clarified. "Did you fuck him?"

"What bar?" Cas narrowed his eyes. "What— _guy_?"

"I saw you kissing a guy at a bar—"

"Dean." Short and stern. Cas had lost his patience. "I don't know what you're talking about, but there was never any bar. Certainly never any… guy.” Cas jerked his chin to look out the window. “I wouldn't... with anyone because—" Cas exhaled sharply. "Because they wouldn't be you."

Scenic lookout. Up ahead.

Dean veered off sharply onto a winding, dirt road, taking them deep into a copse of trees. The sky opened up eventually and the view of the valley below—was breathtaking. Not as breathtaking as what Cas had said to him, but close. He stomped on the brakes and put the Impala in park, then turned toward Cas—who was plastered up against the window and gripping his seat belt. Cas fixed wide, blue eyes on him. Narrowed them like he did when he was confused. “Was it something I said?”

_There was never any bar. Certainly never any… guy._

_Because they wouldn't be you._

Cas... he'd never been at the bar that night. The lighting was all wrong, the faces—he hadn't been sure. Cas had never—

He probably should’ve thought this through before he did it. Should’ve remembered Cas was a _guy_ and he wasn’t into _dudes_ before grabbing and kissing him with everything he had. Cas grunted and stiffened under his touch, then melted into him, giving his all to their kiss. Mouths open too wide, tongues sloppy and wet, even their teeth clicked together once or twice—they were like two virgins making out for the first time. 

Neither of them asked questions. Neither of them stopped. Together, they fumbled with their clothes, taking them off however, wherever they could. The climb into the backseat wasn’t graceful. Dean took an elbow to the forehead; Cas a knee to his thigh. Most of it—the clumsy, stupid part—was all bruises and apologies. The rest of it… soft, tender skin and touching. Dean sucked on one of Cas’ nipples and Cas gasped, arching his back up and into it. Hands explored everything, running down his sides, his hipbones, down to his thighs. When Dean brushed fingers over his cock, Cas groaned beautifully. Better than any sound he’d ever heard. Dean kissed his neck, the underside of his jaw. He touched and rubbed where he could, avoiding most of the bruises. He was good with his hands, that he knew, and Cas fell apart under them. The other stuff? The actual _guy-on-guy_ sex part? 

“Dean,” Cas grunted. “That hurts.”

“Shit. I’m sorry, Cas.” Dean stopped. "I don't know what the fuck I'm doing..."

"I don't care. Just don't stop," Cas whispered. “No, wait. _Stop_ … use your fingers first.”

“How?”

“Like… _yes_ ,” Cas gasped, breathless. “Like that. Just like… _that_.”

Cas guided him as Dean worked him open with gentle fingers. Sliding in and out of him to the tune of his groans and—when he fucked up—his grunts. Dean kissed his lips and rocked against him. His cock rubbed against his and fuck, if it didn’t feel… amazing. Dean groaned into his neck. Cas panted against his skin. When Cas felt ready—

“Dean, I want—“ Cas groaned. “I _need_ you…”

“I don’t want to hurt you…”

“ _Please_.”

Cas was desperate for him. He could hear it in the way he said _please_ , how he pressed his hips up and spread his legs farther apart. That alone… Dean rumbled against his collarbone. He rubbed his cock down with precome, spit, and settled between his thighs. No matter how much he’d prepared him, stretched him under Cas’ instruction, it still hurt when he pressed in as slowly and gently as he did. Cas’ face screwed up in pain, but he tried to hide it with a groan that was as fake as Cas’ lie about that whole thing with Crowley. 

“I’m hurting you…”

“Dean,” Cas whined. “Just shut up.”

He did. While Cas adjusted to him, Dean kissed his neck, his lips and teethed his ear. The tightness of Cas’ muscles, the blazing heat around his cock—Dean expelled a hard breath against his skin. It took everything, every fiber of his being, not to _move_ , to not thrust into him until he exploded. Dean tangled fingers in his hair and gripped hard, burying his head into Cas’ neck. Breathing in his skin. Felt.. so fucking good to be inside him. _God_. 

Little puffs of air at his neck—Cas kissed there, the hollow spot under his ear lobe, and grabbed his ass. Squeezed and jerk-pulled. It drove his cock deep and they both shot out a groan that was both surprised and blissful. Another thrust just like it and Dean shuddered. Lips at Cas’ ear… “Not gonna last… ah, holy fuck.”

They had a rhythm going after the third. Nice and slow, gentle and agonizing. He wanted to fucking blow, fill Cas up with his come, and kiss him until he couldn’t breathe anymore. Cas whimpered and pressed his hips up, wet cock sandwiched and gliding between their stomachs. Under him, Cas trembled. “Dean…”

Another thrust, one more—and Cas was coming. He didn’t last even two more seconds. He was coming, too, hot and plenty inside him. It was mind-blowing. It was… perfect—and it'd only taken a drunken confession over sutures and nearly losing his best friend for him to finally see what he should've seen all along: he was in love with Cas, couldn’t live without him, and Cas was in love with him, too.


End file.
